Hang tough! Ranger up!
by able-141
Summary: The Courier, a former NCR Ranger, is the wasteland's problem solver. A famed bounty hunter, and soldier of fortune. Because of Benny however, he's old news, a Ranger who let a Casino Manager get the drop on him. If he's going to fix his reputation, he has to do it alone, just like he'd done to build it. Post New Vegas AU, I'll be taking some creative liberties here and there.
1. The Hannah Dilemma I

Author's note: Hey guys, this is Able, this is my first publishing on here. That being said I am open to constructive criticism. Don't flame my ass because i got enough og that from my drill sergeants once upon a time.

My writing will be violent, gritty and will feature many adult themes you have been warned.

Hope you guys enjoy, if this gets a positive enough reception then ill keep it rolling.

Thanks!

* * *

He'd killed a man for cigarettes.

The Ranger had killed many for far more, and for even less. But the fact remained, a man had died so Shane could smoke.

Well not entirely, that man had been a slaver, so Shane supposed he'd killed him for information.

Killing a Slaver was something he never hesitated with. He would never bat an eye to stepping on cockroaches.

The cigarettes were a bonus.

Even as crappy as the New Reno Delights were, a smoke was a smoke, and the hunger for Nicotine was something he needed to sate if he was to stay calm.

Jobs like this always made him antsy, his knee bouncing as he sat in his rotten chair. He'd smoked damn near half the pack already.

He should really sleep.

But no, no not yet, they'll be passing through any minute now.

10,000 caps, if he stopped this caravan.

It was the best solo job he'd gotten in a _very _long time.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd stopped a slaver trail, would not be the last. The man himself relished in cleaning up the human garbage that had chained others into bondage.

Shane spat and crushed the cigarette in his gloved palms.

"Where the fuck are you people?" He growled as he checked his M16 for the umpteenth time.

It was a simple rifle, A1 style, with a nice scope up top.

His fingers lingered on the words "Problem Solver." carved into the side of the handguard for a moment too long before his heart started to ache.

Focus.

His watch clicked, midnight, and his patience grew even thinner, but still he sat.

If he could just stifle the burning energy coursing through him then he'd be able to enjoy the Mojave night. The sky was cloudless, the stars and moonlight danced among the inky black of the night.

Then the cowbells came.

Faint mooing, crying and the harsh words that could only be attributed to a slaver echoed through the night.

They were late, but at least they showed.

Before Shane had spilled his guts literally, the man he'd found in some garbage desert watering hole had spilt them metaphorically.

There was an abandoned town not too far from legion territory that a slave crew used as a rest stop before they moved further into Arizona.

The path that his mark was taking would walk them right past him, from there, he'd pick them off.

Had he been a good twenty years younger, his childhood self would have greatly enjoyed the ghost town he was in. But god damn he still got a slight bit giddy when he saw that it was a western town.

The only thing keeping the buildings together was American hard work and an almost spiritual persistence. But still, the town held together well, and the packed buildings made for a good ambush site.

He put his helmet on and engaged his HUD with a press of a button, the night gave way to solid, red-hued clarity as he took in his targets.

They walked right by him up Main Street, just as he anticipated.

Six men, each wearing piecemeal armor and wielding weapons that had definitely seen better days.

Trailing behind, roped neck-to-neck were four young women. The binding around them was lashed to a pack brahmin.

If a slave couldn't keep up they were dragged by the neck, whether or not that was the end of the slave was up to the one in the collar, or the one holding the detonator.

They each held their heads low, to not arouse their captors ire, or their literal arousal.

Shane very much was a betting man, and as much as he hated to think about it, there's no way that these slavers hadn't sampled their product.

When the furthest one lagged too far behind because of the obvious dehydration and exhaustion, one of the men pulled a small switch and struck her back, adding a fresh welt to the dozen others.

She cried out, and the other women flinched.

"Keep moving bitch!" The man shouted.

"Hey Dixon! You keep hitting that dumb cunt if she keeps falling behind!" Their leader drawled.

Untrained trash, slavers, inhuman scum.

Vermin.

They had lived for far too long.

The sound of the bolt slamming forward in his rifle would be the last thing the lead slaver would ever hear.

The first round ripped through their leader's neck, he fell to the ground in a heap of rags and armor, clutching at his ruined throat as he drowned.

"One." He drawled to himself.

He leveled his rifle at the one with the switch, sending a burst through his lower legs. The HP 5.56 turning his knees and calves into a mess of ruined cartilage, shattered tibia and blood.

That piece of shit deserved to suffer, they all did, but as long as one of them died screaming he was content.

The Switch-man screamed, and the girls did too as they got low to avoid the shots, ears covered as they sobbed.

They rest couldn't react before rounds ripped through them, his disciplined shots dispatching targets before they could figure where the shooting was even coming from.

"Two... three..." He whispered.

The Brahmin ran as the noise startled them, the dumb creatures hobbling away from the source of the offensive noise. Anything hefty in terms of firepower going with them.

The girls were all knocked off their shaky legs by the sudden jolt of the animal, seeing this, Shane shot the rope, severing the tether.

That was when the Slavers got their shit together.

"There! He's there!" One cried as he leveled his shotgun to Shane's perch.

Time to move.

Bullets and shot peppered his cover and the Ranger knelt, swapping mags with practiced ease.

Staying low, he crouched, moving quickly to the rear of the building before dropping to the ground.

Their fire remained concentrated on his former position, the slavers firing wildly.

"Amateurs." Shane whispered as he moved through a narrow alley.

He was now to his quarry's left, their weapons still trained on the mess of splintered wood he'd been before.

"Alright asshole! You wanna fuck with us! Then we can fuck with you!" One cried as he reloaded his AK.

Three left.

Shane had been taught to use the terrain to his advantage, and he'd spent the last eight hours in this town.

They'd fallen into his trap easily.

His reply to the mans bravado was something landing in the center of them.

"Oh shit!" One cried, as he eyed what he saw as a grenade.

He was half right, until the bright flash and a loud bang had robbed him of his sight and hearing.

Slowly, almost mechanically he began to shoot his targets, two in the heart and one in the head.

All too easy.

"Six down." He muttered to himself.

Only one left was the one he'd crippled, The Switch-man, who now lay on the ground crying and sobbing.

The Ranger advanced on the only man alive, firing a quick burst into the leader's lifeless body as a means of both assurance and anger output.

Shane stopped above the man and almost felt sick just looking at him.

He was offended by his mere presence, the man looked like a thumb all bald headed and grotesque, his face covered with a sheen of rancid sweat that formed fat droplets running down his double chin.

"Oh Jesus please no..." He begged as he looked up into Shane's merciless red gaze.

"Shut the fuck up." Shane growled as he planted his boot onto his throat.

The man clawed futilely at the leather, his small pig like eyes staring up for mercy that did not exist.

Shane didn't relax his leg until the man's clawing stopped and the death rattle of his demise was heard.

He still shot away his offensive face with the last 20 rounds in his magazine.

The desert was quiet again.

Starlight was overhead, and a coyote cried in the distance. The world felt a little bit cleaner even with blood pooling on the dirt.

A sniffle broke him from his reverie and he turned. Slinging his M16 as he gazed at the women, huddled together against one of the buildings.

Slowly, he removed his helmet, the man himself knew that his face would bring no comfort. The mess of scars that littered his visage brought them no relief, no matter how wide he smiled.

"It'll all be okay, let's get you all free and a drink yes?" He announced as he withdrew his knife.

He'd never seen four heads bob so fast.


	2. The Hannah Dilemma II

Sorry for the update for those who waited, im active duty so im either swamped or resting. Hope youre having a good day :)

* * *

It had taken five days to get the girls back home. Two days for them to rest and recuperate. And three to get where they needed.

They'd taken clothes from the Brahmin packs, and the boots off of the dead men's feet. At first they'd been disgusted, but after walking barefoot for the past few miles, anything was better than bare foot on blazing sand.

Shane went to quite a bit of trouble getting enough water for the lost women, but it was a necessary action for their survival.

They'd been through hell, and had narrowly dodged the bleak existence that Shane had known intimately.

His forearm burned at the thought but he banished the pain just as soon as it came.

Shane had never been to the town of _Cactus Springs_ hadn't even heard of it before he was given the contract for it. It was like any California town nowadays, freshly built buildings and lazy, rear detachment troopers fiddle-fucking around.

The only prominence was an almost blindingly white manor at the apex of a hill. The rolling crests surrounding it, covered in agave and other such crops.

Still being a betting man, he wagered his benefactor was there.

To Shane's disgust, that was likely why four women could just be taken so easily, and he blamed poor preparation for the seven freshly dug graves outside town.

Each had an NCR issue helmet on them, dog tags hung from the ramshackle cross, clinking in the desert breeze.

The townsfolk gave the returned women a reception Shane had seen a dozen times or more. Tears of relief and joy as girls were swept into the arms of their loved ones. Parents and siblings embracing their family member, their distraught melting away with every kiss and hug.

Shane stood far from it all, the only thing he could embrace was the M16 still cradled in his arms. The rifle itself brought its own memories, and he stifled the sorrow that felt like a fist around his heart.

A woman, attractive in a farm girl sort of way. Grasped his helmet in her shaky hands, and planted a kiss right on his metal cheek.

"Thank you thank you thank you!" She fired off rapidly.

Shane chuckled uncomfortably as the woman embraced him, body armor and all.

"Not a problem ma'am." He drawled.

He could've been saving four nuns, but it didn't change the fact he'd done it for money.

But to them, regardless of his motivation, he'd brought them back their girls.

Men shook his hand, women hugged him or offered the same, children looked up at the former Ranger star struck.

Despite the crowd conveying their gratitude, Shane's focus was on the big house above them all.

A man and a woman, each easily middle aged and beginning to grey, stared from their balcony with pure disappointment etched into their features.

A sharp whistle silenced the townsfolk.

Features that eerily reminded Shane of a rattlesnake peeked from the black of his widely brimmed hat. His well tailored suit was likewise black, saved for the pale blue vest he wore.

His smile was thin, and held an air of haughtiness that the former Ranger did not care for. And even though his hands were behind his back, he still eyed the man's gunbelt suspiciously.

The glint of his pistol was offset by the menacing machete that was strapped to his leg.

"Mister Shane Walsh..." The man greeted, his voice as smooth as top shelf whiskey.

"To whom do I owe the pleasure?" The former Ranger drawled, thumbs going to his belt buckle as he sized the man up.

"My Christian name is Lucius Merrimack Kelly... I am the head of security for the Eberly Distillary corporation." The man explained, a slight bow to his posture.

"Never heard of you." Shane said evenly.

"I understand your reservations with a stranger Mister Walsh. But I assure you, if you begin to trust our mutual employer, it may prove lucrative." Mr. Kelly maintained his confident smile.

"There is the matter of my fee." Shane reminded.

It felt wrong discussing such matters in front of the very crowd who had called him selfless not even ten minutes ago.

"Follow me Mister Walsh, and all your questions and inquiries will find their answers." Mr. Kelly chuckled as he waved Shane to follow.

Even with a ten-thousand payout, he still felt uncomfortable following this man.

As to be expected of high profile people, Shane was disarmed at the entrance. His shoulder holsters, gun belt, and magazines were all taken. He'd reluctantly handed his M16 off, and was similarly relieved of his helmet.

Even after taking away pounds of gear, they still frisked him, and Shane internally smirked as they missed a knife and pistol he'd hidden.

His grey eyes flecked over the guards cautiously, the bulk of their chest suggested body armor beneath the suits they wore. Clutched in their hands was a myriad of weapons, from lever actions to assault rifles.

Whoever these Eberly people were, they were loaded, the homestead he found himself in was so clean he felt filthy just looking at it.

Everything seemed to be made of rosewood and marble, and he felt like he was tracking dirt just by stepping on it.

The plush softness of it all was suffocating to the man. The former Ranger rarely allowed himself the finer things in life, as to avoid going soft. The last time he became complacent and comfortable, ended with him getting shot in the head.

"Ah! The man himself!" A voice boomed.

Shane's gaze centered on the man he saw on the balcony. Up close he saw he was a barrel chested man, who despite his obvious years walked with a vigor reserved for a far younger man. From underneath his bushy grey brows his eyes twinkled and his smile was broad under his graying whiskers.

This could only be Mister Eberly.

Shane's hand was in a bone crushing grip before he could even mutter a greeting.

"A pleasure to meet you Mr. Walsh! Augustus Eberly, a pleasure."The old man greeted happily.

"Likewise Mr. Eberly." Shane greeted back.

"Please follow me, sit!" The man insisted.

Shane was ushered into a poshly decorated parlor, dark wood was tastefully lain about. The woman who Shane had seen from afar was seated on a couch, next to her was a young man, easily mid twenties, a younger copy of his father.

Shane's eyes lingered on the Eberly family cautiously as Mr. Eberly made a quick beeline for the bar.

Scanning the room, the former Ranger eyed a family portrait. Each of the three Eberly family members sat, stoic faced and immortalized.

Save a beautiful blonde girl, a female counterpart to her brother, who was absent from the room.

Mr. Kelly shut the door quickly, to provide privacy for the group.

'Three soft targets, Kelly is armed.' Shane thought.

He eyed the exits to the room, the glass doors lead to the very balcony Shane had seen them earlier.

If this went sideways he'd be ready, he'd always be ready.

"You a tequila man Mister Walsh?" Mr. Eberly asked, his smile inflected in his voice.

"Bourbon, sir." Shane responded.

The man grunted in disappointment but poured, and returned, handing Shane a tumbler of bourbon.

"My wife, Diana, and my son Daniel." The man explained proudly.

"Mister Walsh." Mrs. Eberly greeted, taking Shane's calloused hand in a dainty grip.

"Sir." Daniel said curtly, his hand finding Shane's. His eyes disturbed Shane, vacant, and blank.

"Please sit." Mr. Eberly insisted.

Shane reluctantly did, adjacently to the family. Mr. Kelly firmly stood in Shane's peripherals, hands folded.

"I won't insult your intelligence Mister Walsh, by now you know that we are your employers." Mr. Eberly droned as he sipped his drink.

Mrs. Eberly grabbed a saucer of tea, their son did nothing but sit and stare.

To the older woman, her exterior was cool and calm, on the inside she was terrified.

The man that sat before her stared her and her family down, his wolffish features unsettled her, all angular and sharp. His black hair and beard accented the scars that littered his face, the fabled gunshot he'd taken to the head cleaved his skull starting at the temple.

But his _eyes_.

Those were the most disturbing feature of all.

Haunting chips of grey,dark like foggy glass, lifeless and cold.

The eyes of a killer.

Regardless, she sipped her tea and hoped her short smile didn't seem too nervous. Even as the pleasantries of business continued, she feared for her life.

"If anyone could afford my services it doesn't surprise me to be you." Shane praised, ignoring his bourbon as it sat on the table between them.

"Well for my family we expect nothing but the finest. And you have delivered as per your contract." Mr. Eberly said.

Mr. Kelly retrieved a tray from a cabinet, caps neatly set in leather bags covered the entire surface. A big, elegant looking "E" was printed onto each bag.

"Five thousand." The old man announced.

Shane's blood ran hot, his nostrils flared, and his grip tightened.

"The contract said *ten* thousand." He growled.

Suddenly, his contingency plan to kill everyone in the room became all the more appealing.

He noticed the old woman flinch, and Mr. Kelly tensed in the corner.

'_No you're better than that._' She would say.

Was he really though?

"There is a reason why we paid for you to retrieve those girls, and you did so perfectly. However, one was missing, that was your true objective."

"Excuse me?" Shane raised a brow, but otherwise kept the edge in his voice.

"Our daughter... our Hannah." Mrs. Eberly said, her eyes shrouded with worry.

The older man's smile finally died at the mention of his daughter.

He took a single calming breath, perhaps what they explained would be to his benefit.

"Tell me what happened." Shane asked, downing his bourbon in a quick flourish.

"It was two weeks ago. Men came to this town, armed men. During a work party we hold at the end of each quarter." Mrs. Eberly explained.

"The troopers tried to stop them, but these men were not raider types. They were trained professionals." Mr. Eberly drawled, obvious distaste in his voice.

Shane would hardly call the troopers in town real soldiers. For all he knew he was dealing with dangerous amateurs, not real professionals. The weak looking troopers in town were probably easy game for a run of the mill raider. The band he'd wasted were nothing like what was being described.

But, the former Ranger would keep an open mind regardless.

"They killed the troopers and took the girls. It all happened so fast, I didn't expect it to go the way it did. They took what they could and left." Mr. Eberly described.

"Did you get a good look at them?" Shane asked, fingers interlaced as he leaned into the conversation.

"Yes, they wore military style uniforms, not unlike what the troopers wear." The aged man explained.

Nothing like the rag wearing band he'd killed, those men would've burnt the town down if they had the numbers and taken everyone.

A lot of information was not matching up.

"Sounds to me like whoever nabbed her was not the crew I ran across earlier." Shane thought aloud.

"All we know is that they're heading East... where exactly from there I don't know."

Shane had no idea where they'd go either. The Legion was crumbling, that left the markets up north or further into the south.

He did however, know someone who might know, that'd be his first stop for intel.

If he was going _there_ he needed to have more than an M16.

"We know about your reputation Mister Walsh, and we know it needs a... boost so to speak." Mr. Eberly began.

His ego was stung at the words, after Benny had shot him in the head, his legend was shoddy at best.

A former NCR Ranger, a legend in the bounty hunting world and in the military.

And he was taken down by a goddamn Casino Manager.

Turns out being the now storied "Courier" only meant so much having had assistance along the way.

The Courier was a hero built upon by the combined efforts of him and his friends.

Shane Walsh was a reputation he'd built all by himself.

If he was to return to this line of work, he needed to rebuild his reputation. He used to be a go-to and now no one remembered who he was.

Shane Walsh didn't mean anything anymore, his name was synonymous with old news.

He needed to have that reputation back, he needed to be on top.

If finding this girl was how it happened then so be it.

"I'll need a picture."

* * *

Twenty thousand caps.

It is bullshit what people say about their loved ones. You can put a price on anything no matter what.

The Eberly family was willing to pay twenty thousand for the safe return of their daughter Hannah.

Shane had bit the bullet, accepted the risks days ago, and now he needed the information that would make or break this job.

The former Ranger would never admit it, but to see the tears of relief on that old woman's face was a reward in and of itself.

He was outside New Reno for that exact reason.

And Shane despised New Reno.

All the charm of Vegas and double the scum. Neon lights were a solid two miles away. And even from here Shane could smell the rot and almost gagged. It figured that *she* would be here.

Nicole "Nix" Maxwell was someone he had a storied history with.

Whether or not she would cooperate would either take some convincing or none at all depending on her mood.

Her usual haunt was a roach nest of a saloon aptly named Underworld.

That rathole of a bar had stood for far too long for Shane's taste. But it was a necessary evil for intel and he had to admit, the drinks were cheap and strong.

Shane was not a welcome patron by any means, the clientele of that watering hole had either lost people to Shane or had been put out of work by him.

A great deal of them would be targets one day, and Shane made sure he committed every face to memory.

If he had his way, he'd get an M60 and just light up the entire place and burn it to the ground.

But that would mean he owed the city, and that wouldn't do.

His sense of whimsy did however enjoy the old style shutter doors that were the entrance. Patrons smoked out on the deck, and as soon as they eyed the black armor of an NCR Ranger they finished their drinks and left.

The former Ranger chuckled to himself, and advanced to the entrance.

As soon as he pushed through the shutters all the revelry died. Slavers, mercenaries, raiders, chem pushers and even other hunters all had their eyes on him.

The room turned arctic and Shane clenched his fists and prepared to draw his iron.

"Shane Walsh~." A voice cooed.

Lovely.

Slowly, with an almost predatory gait, Nix descended the second floor stairs. Her bleached white hair was a sharp contrast to all the drab color in the room, cut asymmetrically with her eyes and lips accented with black makeup.

At 5'3 she barely came to his chin and walked like she was a giant. Her bright green eyes stared at him with the spark of an admirer and the hard edge of a rival.

"Nix." He greeted.

"Back to the party everyone! Shane's not going to do anything stupid. Are you Shane?" She teased.

"Just here to talk. Nothing else." He said with finality.

That seemed to placate enough of the patrons enough to continue drinking, albeit fearfully.

Not all of them though.

A trio of them, each tall and angry, brandishing guns of varying size all walked up.

"Ah ah ah, sorry boys. He's off limits." Nix hissed to them.

"Get out of our way Nix, that piece of trash killed my brother!" The lead one growled.

"You'll have to be more specific. I kill a lot of brothers." Shane said evenly.

"You bastard!" The man cried, pointing his shotgun at Shane.

In a flash, the Ranger's own rifle was leveled at them He really needed more than just an M16 if the rest of the patrons wanted to dance.

"Gentleman gentleman please, level heads?" Nix asked, voice so mockingly sweet Shane wanted to gag.

"Get the fuck out of the way Nix. I will shoot through you to kill this fuck." The leader growled.

"And now you went and said it." Nix sighed.

Before the man knew it, his neck was sliced open, the blade was shaped like a tiger's claw and twice as sharp. Blood spurted out in fast jets as the man hit the floor.

The other two were dropped with two shots from Shane's pistols, all three were dead before they hit the ground.

Nix spun her karambit knife along her trigger finger before she wiped it off on the leader who was currently drowning in his own blood.

Some laughed at the idiocy of the trio for trying to take them on, some clapped at the display.

Most stayed silent.

"Come with me." She said with a wave of her hand.

"Sorry about the mess Dave." She is chuckled awkwardly to the barkeep who just shook his head.

Shane was lead into her modest room, and was more on edge in there than out there with the thugs and killers.

"Want a drink? Some music?" She asked.

"No." He ground, crossing his arms.

"Well you're not here to drink and you don't want me to set the mood at all. So you do want to talk." She deduced, a teasing smile on her face.

"I didn't walk all the way here for a booty call Nix." He sighed.

"A girl can dream." She said wistfully.

"I'm looking for a girl." Shane announced.

"Why keep looking, I'm right here." She jested.

"Not like that, it's work." He scoffed, withdrawing Elizabeth's photo.

Nix eyed it for a nanosecond.

"Never seen her before." She shrugged.

"You're a piss poor liar Nix." He growled.

"Uh no, I am a fantastic liar. I haven't seen her but I know who might've." She said as she poured herself some tequila.

"Who?" He asked.

"Uh uh uh..." She tutted, "Quid pro quo handsome."

He sighed for the umpteenth time.

"What do you want?" He asked, voice trailing as if suffering.

"You can start by taking off that helmet and looking me in the eye like a man." She said before sipping her drink.

Reluctantly, he complied.

Grey met green and she smiled.

"There's those beautiful eyes." She traced his jawline, "And that handsome face."

The only people alive that called him "handsome" were either whores who wanted his money, or Nix.

"Who's the man?" Shane asked again.

"What do I get if I tell you?" She giggled.

"What do you want?"

Very poor choice of words on his part.

The hellion's eyes flicked from him to the large bed and she grinned hungrily at him.

"No." He deadpanned.

"I'm not gonna beg honey, it's your loss. Both with work and play." She laughed.

"You get one kiss." He sighed.

"A kiss and a thousand caps."

"Deal."

One of Eberly's bags of caps was put onto her dresser, and a pair of lips collided with his, desperate and hungry.

When Shane found Hannah he hoped she was grateful for the sacrifices he'd made for her.


	3. The Hannah Dilemma III

Hope you guys like it, I know my writings leave a lot of questions but I have a plan just have some faith. Brownie points to whoever got that reference :) please review civilly so I can do better.

* * *

Sometimes he had this dream.

He didn't stay in the Ranger's, neither of them did. He married her, like she wanted so badly, and like he'd promised.

He built a life with her, and a family. A ranch bustling with the laughter of kids, each a spitting image of one parent or the other.

Their time in service was a dinner conversation, or a topic for one of their kids on a written assignment.

He grew old and slow.

It was perfect.

And then he woke up.

It wasn't for him, it'd never be for him.

The former Ranger sat up and untangled himself from the limbs he'd found himself covered with. As silently as he could he dressed, a tad disappointed in himself for going way farther than he agreed to.

Shane pulled his boots on and sighed, glancing at the nude woman asleep in the bed.

He spared her a glance, she would never hear him say it, but he was fond of her in a way.

She'd be pissed when she woke up, but whenever they did this he was gone by morning.

He couldn't get attached, he couldn't open himself like that.

Nix has given him a name, Stefan Hurst.

Local arms dealer, chem pusher and slaver.

In about a day or two, he'd be the next dead man.

Shane shut the door with a soft click and stepped over the drunk and glanced at the now spotless floor. The three dead men were absent, he didn't have a clue about what the barkeep did with them.

He found he didn't care.

Out the shutter doors and into the desert he went, thankfully his eyes were spared the glaring sun from beneath his visor.

The former Ranger knew where he needed to go, it was quite a walk from his current location and if he wanted to find her it needed to be fast.

His steady pace was filled with his thinking, once he got all the information he needed the rest would hopefully be simple.

He withdrew the photograph of Hannah and his heart ached.

She was young, too young, but when had those kind of people ever spared the young.

His own sister hadn't even been half Hannah's age when she was sold.

_"Sell them separate. And sell them cheap_." A voice cackled in his mind.

People say if you seek revenge you need to dig two graves.

Shane found that concept laughable, here he was still alive.

Focus.

He shook his head and came back to the present.

Today was full of memories that Shane preferred buried, of a younger brother and sister he was supposed to look out for.

They were ghosts now, a constant scar upon his psyche.

Maybe he was a ghost too, some days he felt like he was.

Ever since he got shot in the head he felt slower, sluggish. His body was a mess it was true but never like how he felt most days.

Fights that should've been child's play to him were suddenly a hazard. He didn't win unless he had the absolute tactical advantage.

He despised this feeling, he felt weak, vulnerable.

But he had to succeed, he was not obsolete, he was still the best. If he didn't have anybody to live for anymore, he could at least live for that.

The former Ranger connected his camelbak hose to his helmet and drank, contemplating how he would take his next target. He had his M16 and more than enough ammunition, two .45 caliber pistols, and his Sequoia on his hip.

Luckily home was on the way, he could restock on what he needed and grab more appropriate armament.

But it was after his eighth mile he knew he was being followed.

He did not alter his pace, and gave no indication he even knew he was being followed.

The Ranger's helmet counted at least five hostiles to his six.

On flat ground with the rifle he had? This was cake. But if they were armed for war with better than what he had?

This would indeed be difficult.

Shane's instincts screamed at him to hit the dirt, if he was fast enough he could drop and get set, he figured if they were capable of long range they'd of done it by now.

He allowed the distance to close, and in a fluid motion he turned and assumed a rock solid shooters stance.

What he saw through his scope was disappointed him.

"God dammit." He whispered.

Nix.

Whistling a jolly tune, tossing the bag of caps he'd given her and holding a device he didn't know the function of.

"What the fuck?" He snarled.

She stopped a good few feet from him,

"Easy there Ranger." She chuckled,"I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm tracking six life signs. And here you are Nix, you got a crew scattered through here?" He demanded, rifle still leveled at her head.

"Wasn't hard to trick your sensors honey. Been working on ways to one up you. Serves you right for leaving a girl wanting morning seconds~." She smirked.

He still didn't lower the rifle.

"You have twenty seconds before a graze, if you don't scram after that it's lethal." He growled.

"Calm down cowboy, as much as a I love your deep dark voice I'm actually here for business not pleasure."

Reluctantly he finally lowered the rifle, the safety did not come back on.

"What do you want?" He asked exasperated.

"You know I find it interesting that this pouch..." She gave it another toss,"Has a very familiar E on it."

The woman began to pace in front of him, back and forth with a lazy smile.

"I know I've seen it before, so you'll have to imagine my surprise when I saw it on my favorite kind of tequila." She said evenly.

Shane said nothing.

"Now I started to think, why would Shane Walsh, a man who *hates* tequila have such a hefty souvenir from the best kind you can get?" She frowned, feigning thought with a finger on her chin.

"Either you've turned a new leaf on my favorite booze, *or* the Eberly family hired you." She pointed an accusing finger.

Shane thumbed the safety and slung his rifle, there wasn't really any fighting this.

"Did I walk out for miles after your fine ass to hear you finally like what I drink or that I'm right?" She glared pocketing the pouch and crossing her arms.

The only sound was the desert breeze as Shane stared Nix down.

"You're right." Shane ground out.

She hollered and bounced on the balls of her feet.

"Did you come all this way to tell me you were right then?" Shane asked.

He was hoping Nix's impulsiveness would prove that she only wanted to best him somehow, then be on her merry way.

"Oh hell no, I want in."

Dammit.

"Not happening." He rumbled with finality.

She scoffed and bolted to his front when he turned to leave.

"Oh c'mon Shane! I need the work." She plead but Shane pushed past her.

"Then go find some." He growled, "Because I don't need you."

He left her alone in the middle of the desert, fuming as she picked up a rock and threw it at his head.

He sidestepped, and heard a colorful string of curses.

The Ex-Ranger ignored all the jabs that came from Nix's colorful arsenal and did not look back.

* * *

Hours passed and miles went with him, out of boredom and out of hunger he shot down some Molerat. Their stringy meat sufficed when he hadn't eaten anything in awhile.

It was only after bagging his kill that Shane worked his way up into a rock formation, and set to making his camp.

It was an old spot he used frequently, a small canyon cut into a plateau. One way in and one way out. The interior was narrow enough, and covered with large rocks that made excellent cover.

His favorite feature however was the fact the sky was still open above him.

Rotten wood and sticks made a sufficient campfire, the ashes from previous nights was still there.

Home wasn't far, the Strip was another day away.

Shane sat at his fire, warming his bones in preparation for another long night in the desert.

If he had his way, he'd have at least a few mines set, and a claymore a few meters out. But the man hasn't expected to be out this long, not without all the equipment he knew he needed.

Stars glittered like diamonds as the Ex-Ranger ate, the fresh air was crisp without the filter of his helmet blocking it off.

Maybe if he was lucky, he'd sleep tonight.

If Stefan Hurst was important enough, Shane would already know about him. The fact he was an enigma either meant he was a little fish or really good at staying under the radar.

The former Ranger went with the latter, considering he had some high profile dudes under his thumb.

It'd been a long time since he'd dismantled an organization. He may be the reason for the Legion's crumbling state as of now, but he hardly did that alone.

Slave organizations were always a tricky business to tackle. They could be so disorganized that it was a chore at best, or they were so well structured he'd struggle with a decently formed strike team.

It was times like this that he missed the companions he'd made along the way.

Boone was with his old unit, wasting Legion and making the world a better place. He sorely missed the quiet sniper's company, he'd of been a welcome hand in this job.

He wished the gang was all here, but they were all on their own now. And the path he was on now, he needed to do alone.

They had helped the Courier.

They couldn't help Shane Walsh.

His mind drifted to fond memories of welcome company beneath similar starry nights. He smiled as he finished his meal, wiping the juices that stained his fingers onto his faded combats.

That rare smile died as the navy blue of the fading daylight reminded him of her eyes.

He sighed, and tried his damndest to banish the thoughts to oblivion.

The former Ranger knew his fire was more a danger than a comfort and quickly snuffed it out. He grabbed at his helmet and snapped it on, the heads up display coming to life within seconds.

He reclined on the wall of the canyon and cradled his rifle, eyes heavy and sleep imminent. That is until his helmet chimed and he snapped awake. Five hostiles, closing in at a steady pace.

The former Ranger stood, dusted off his clothes and set down his rifle.

"God dammit Nix." He snarled.

He stomped to the entrance of his small hideaway, fully expecting the haughty woman to be standing there, demanding to accompany him.

That woman was such a nuisance when she tried, and she tried often. He knew she loved getting under his skin, and it wouldn't be the first time she'd woken him up to do it.

As he came to the mouth of the canyon, he froze.

It wasn't Nix.

Five personnel, all armed, all staring at him weapons leveled and ready.

Time slowed down, these men each carried something automatic, and at this range his armor would only take so much.

His hands tended, and the phantom agony of the bullet that had torn through both his palms reared again. He could make for his pistols, quick draw his revolver, do something.

_Anything_.

That accursed shot to the head had slowed him down, his mind went blank, and the only thing he knew to do was to say something aloud.

"Fuck."

Again, the man knew what it was like to be shot in the head.

He flew back from the force of it, the armor of his helmet had made the projectile glance off and scratch alongside.

Just like Benny's did against his skull.

His vision blurred, his bell was rung bad and he felt like vomiting but in a mad haze he frantically scrambled for cover.

Problem Solver was further inside, and Shane drew his .45's and thumbed the safeties off.

Gunfire kept him pinned, if he ran further in he risked breaking his cover.

'Stupid stupid! Goddamn greenhorn rookie mistake! Never let your guard down!' He thought, chastising himself.

"You chose the wrong business to fuck with!" One cried.

Shane's response was to send some rounds their way, a desperate move, but necessary to break their advantage.

He hit nothing but rock and air, his mind was still hazy from his narrowly avoided killshot.

The former Ranger knew he couldn't stay here, if he did he was dead. If they had so much as one frag he was screwed.

He changed mags, and readied himself. If they aimed center mass his plates would take the worst of it, but he made piece with the fact he was going to get shot today.

Walsh broke cover, diving to the side and diverting their focus. Their rifles did not transition quickly enough before his pistols zeroed in on them.

The fire from his guns held akimbo dropped two immediately. The fat .45 ACP hollows ripping through tissue with ease.

He came up to his feet while firing into their throng, his M1911's booming against the cave walls.

Two of them, one gut shot and screaming at the gaping holes through his stomach and back. The other was dead before she hit the ground, her spine severed by the rounds Shane loaded.

"Motherfucker!" One cried as he raised his rifle, firing back at the Ranger.

Shane was not as fast as he used to be, and the man had brought his rifle to bear faster than the former Ranger could with his pistols.

The all too familiar sensation of rounds slamming into his armor greeted Shane once more. His armor cracked, and he hit the ground, the air had been knocked right out of his lungs and the .45's from his hands.

He lay supine on the sand, before a boot was planted on his chest and a rifle leveled at his visor.

The man hefted his rifle and began to bludgeon the Ranger's helmeted head with his buttstock.

His instincts screamed fight back, but his mind was a hazy mess after he was hit for the fifth time. And the man did not stop until the visor of his helmet was cracked and Shane had no desire to fight back anymore.

"Badass Ranger my ass..." The man growled.

This is how his legend ends.

A broken man, laying on his back, an AK held between his eyes.

Whatever was coming he was ready.

He just hoped she would be on the other side, waiting for him after all these years. He shut his eyes and imagined her then, ethereal and beautiful, like an angel should be.

When Shane was still in uniform, he heard a legend that you don't hear the bullet that kills you.

So why did he hear one now?

Blood spattered down onto his visor and armor and the man above him collapsed onto his chest, a hole through his skull. The force of impact snapped Shane from his trance and shoved the corpse off of himself.

Sluggishly he groped for his pistols.

Nix moved in, her own night vision on, a pistol in one hand and her knife in the other. The blade found itself buried into the neck of the one on Shane's right.

Before the other man could react to this new assailant, she used her blade to fling her now dead target into the last remaining live one. The cadaver stunted the man long enough for Nix to smoothly plant two rounds in his heart and one in his head.

"Luckily no rear security." She mused as she wiped her blade off on her leg.

She glanced toward Shane and sighed as she advanced on him.

He stumbled and fell to his knees, the world felt heavy and his vision was fading fast.

"That's why you need me cowboy." She jested as she knelt next to him.

It was all Shane heard before he blacked out.


	4. The Hannah Dilemma IV

Sorry for the long hiatus guys, been a busy time between chapters. I'll update when life isn't slamming me into the dirt.

Share, favorite and comment, I'd like to hear constructive criticism and what you like/don't like.

Thanks!

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Nix couldn't quite remember if she did this because she owed Shane or because Shane would owe her.

Maybe it was because he was fun to work with and against, or because he was a good lay.

It could also be that she'd been a pain to him before, they had exchanged gunfire once or twice.

The true purpose was obvious, because deep down she cared about him, but she'd vehemently deny it.

Thoughts of that idea made the usually easygoing woman blush. Luckily no one would see it however.

When she finally got that accursed helmet off she sighed, gingerly checking behind his ears and under his eyes. Thankfully, he didn't have the indicators of a skull fracture.

Nix was also in the NCR Army once as a medic. And while she had problems with authority, especially the woefully incompetent, she was excellent at her job.

She always carried an aid bag, no matter where she went, no dishonorable discharge could stop her from still being useful medically.

She swept his body for blood quickly, looking at her hands and finding none. She checked every major arterial spot alongside those fat bleeders that turned years long lifespans to seconds.

Neck, axillary, arms, inguinal, his legs.

No blood.

"Thank fuck." She hissed.

She tilted his head back and opened his mouth, listening and feeling for his breaths.

"Patent." She said to herself.

Regardless, if he was awake for what came next, she had no doubt he'd kill her.

She withdrew an NPA, a long plastic tube that would work as Shane's new airway. It was an insurance policy at this point. To maintain his path to breath.

Coating it generously with lubricant, she pig nosed the Ranger and shoved it down, securing the edges of its entrance with tape.

He did not move, he was really out cold.

She finished the rest of her assessment and got to work on evacuating her new casualty.

Shane was a man who planned she'd come to know, he liked to be prepared rather than lucky.

Even if he had luck in spades.

She sat him ups using her knees as leverage to keep him sitting before she got a deep squat and stood.

"God dammit Shane! Eat a fucking salad." She grimaced as she manipulated his unconscious form to drag him.

The Huntress cursed and laid him down as gently as she could.

She left him supine as she jogged back into the canyon to retrieve the man's pack and rifle knowing there'd be hell to pay if she didn't.

It'd be a long way back home, so she grit her teeth, clipped his harness to her armor with a Dragon strap and began to walk.

-The Next Day.*

Shane awoke, and grimaced as the searing pain racked his head.

"What the hell?" He growled sitting up.

Wait.

Where the hell was he?

Where the hell was his armor?

He jolted, panicked, he was in a bed, an IV was in his arm and his chest and arms were buckled down.

"Easy there cowboy, it's just me." She said.

Nix leaned against the doorframe, disappointment etched into her face.

"What happened?" Shane asked.

"Bullet skipped against your helmet. Any further to the left and ironically it would've hit the same spot." She explained.

"You dragged me here?"

"Sadly yes, but this ass doesn't happen on its own. I needed the leg day anyway." She shrugged.

His eyes widened, his brows raised in surprise, she found it somewhat amusing to see the usually stoic man so dumbfounded.

"Well thanks Nix... I owe you one." He said simply.

"No shit."

"Now if you could tell me why I'm handcuffed."

"It's because I'm not letting you go save the girl."

What?

"Come again?" He grit his teeth.

She crossed her arms and worked to replace the IV bag with a new one.

"Shane I've known you a long time. Two years ago you'd of drawn on those morons before they could blink."

He said nothing.

"But you're slower now, sluggish. You took a bullet before you even got your shit together." She admonished as she set the drip on the bag.

He still stayed silent.

"Shane do you really think you can-"

"You better not suggest I retire." He warned.

"Or you'll what?" She hissed.

Green eyes blazed against the cold grey, neither relenting.

Shane shut his eyes and sighed.

"You really think I don't know that I'm nowhere near my prime? You honestly think I don't flex my hands and feel how stiff they've gotten?" He whispered.

"You and I both know if you stopped right now you could retire in luxury." She said.

"I can't do that Nix... there's still... there's still good I can do." He sighed.

The rage in her eyes disappeared.

"You can still do good Shane, you're a damn good hunter an even better troop. You could be a ranger instructor a mentor at the lodge." She suggested.

"To hell with that." He growled.

She threw her hands up and scoffed.

"You're a stubborn man, and I feel for you right now. But I'm not cutting you loose. I'm gonna get the girl, I'm the best chance she has right now." She declared.

"No I said I'd save her! This job is mine!"

"You're in no shape to save a kitten from a tree. You don't need the caps."

"It isn't about the goddamn caps." He growled.

"Then what is it then? Your ego needs a boost? Does the high and mighty need to maintain his reputation?" She crossed her arms.

"That isn't what this is about."

"Then what the fuck is it about Shane? You tell me. Because from where I'm standing it just looks like her life is being used to sate your reputation." She spat.

It was silent, she expected rage, she expect shouting.

She didn't expect calm.

"You've seen the brand on my arm. You know damn well why I want to save her. I've lived through what she is right now, I spent the first half of my life that way."

For the first time since Nix had known him, Shane looked vulnerable.

"I need to do this, I prayed someone would come save me back then. If I can be that person for someone saying those same prayers, then I'll be living a life worth the freedom I fought for." He said, baritone laved with conviction.

Nix eyed him carefully, she knew bit and pieces about him, but never something as in depth.

She knew the meaning of his brand, and it made her heart ache at the revelation but still, her resolved remained.

"Your restraints are on a timer as soon as I leave. Once it runs out you'll be free to go and I'll be halfway to where she's at. Go home Shane, this isn't any of your concern anymore." Nix finalized.

He moved to protest but she silenced him with a kiss.

The Ranger went rigid but did not resist.

"This is for your own good." She whispered, "Me at one hundred percent is the best shot she has, not you, not now."

He clicked his tongue and she turned and she withdrew a syringe. She inserted it into his IV line and depressed the plunger.

Almost immediately, he began to fade away.

"Sweet dreams."

His eyes fluttered shut, and Nix sighed as she put the syringe into a biohazard container.

She didn't think having Shane over in her home for the first time would entail doping him up. She imagined something far more intimate instead of the medical emergency.

Luckily, she'd taken her prior profession as a medic very seriously, and her medical bay reflected that.

She left him unconscious, the cocktail of sedatives would keep him under and speed up his recovery at the same time. By the time he'd awaken, she might actually already have liberated the girl.

Wordlessly she shut the door to the room, and went to collect her gear.

An Auto-Doc had ruled out surgery after a full body scan, he had some souvenirs that he'd keep for the rest of his life.

The machine had found that Shane had several life threatening injuries from the scar tissue that remained. His right shoulder and thigh had bits of shrapnel in it, and a bullet was lodged through his chest and nearly out the back.

His armor had stalled its velocity, but hadn't stopped it from penetrating. If it was two inches to the left it would've pierced his aorta.

Maybe some divine power believed Shane had work to do as well, he should've been dead.

Nix was very grateful that despite all his obvious efforts to the contrary, he'd survived.

The woman was, after all, quite fond of the handsome idiot.

She grabbed her duffel bag, having packed it after getting Shane inside. It's contents were everything she needed and more for this endeavor.

She did a last glance at Shane's vitals, checked her gear one final time, and then ascended the ladder that exited her home.

It was a pre-war bunker, US military. From what the maps told her when she moved in, it was located on what was training land for the Nevada National Guard.

It was a mess when she'd first showed up, but luckily it was both isolated enough that she rarely had visitors, and close enough to civilization that she never went hungry.

The walk was uneventful, Stefan Hurst was even more so.

Her informant had told her she'd find him at the Casa Madrid in Westside. No surprise for a man wanted by the NCR to hide where troopers never roamed.

Pretty Sarah was an old friend, an old friend that had kept a decent eye out for anything the Huntress would find interesting.

As she entered the crumbling building, Nix grinned at the sight of Pretty Sarah.

"Nikki!" She smirked, embracing Nix.

"Hey battle how you been?" The Huntress greeted, embracing her friend.

"Not bad for a crispy, food is on the table." She jested with a low chuckle.

Nix didn't find it funny, the burn scars were everywhere.

"Are you sure you're alright? I can check you out-"

"Doc I'm fine, it's been awhile. But I know this is business not pleasure." Pretty Sarah sighed, giving Nix a soft look, "Besides I've got more strange on the market, so I've got more customers. I'm doing good for myself."

"I know... but if I hadn't gotten out I could've watched your back." Nix looked down at her boots.

"You did what you had to, just like you're about to now. He's upstairs, down the hall to your left." She said.

Nix only nodded, then hugged her friend again.

"I'll be back through here to see you again, promise." She whispered.

"Go kick some ass Doc Nikki." Her friend said smiling.

She strolled to his room and rolled her eyes as she heard the telltale giggle of an overacting working girl.

Nix was elated to ruin his night.

The door gave with a swift kick, the crack accented with a startled yelp.

The rodent looking man was half nude and when he moved for his pistol, Nix was faster.

"Ah ah..." She tutted.

He froze, and raised his hands, there went the only thing holding his trousers which pooled at his feet.

Nix stifled a laugh and gestured for him to sit.

Her eyes flicked to the girl giving her a good once over, she wasn't a threat, just a busty redhead.

"You've got a type Stefan, I'd of never have guessed." She joked, "Get the fuck outta here."

The girl was out the door, wordlessly collecting her skimpy garments.

"Who the hell are you?" He growled.

"You should've hired a dominatrix Hurst, you've been a naughty naughty boy... chems, guns, people... your merchandise is rather sinful." She teased, the pistol still leveled.

"So you uh... you know about dat?" She could see the beads of sweat form at the sight of her predatory smile.

"Oh yeah Stefan, I know all about you. But it's your lucky day."

"It is?"

"If you tell me what I wanna know, thing is buddy, I'm not after you. I'm after someone who might've pinged on your radar."

Relief washed over him, and he swept his greasy hair back.

"Okay pussycat I'll cooperate..."

"Good." She chirped.

"You can ugh... you can put that piece away."

"That's about as likely as you getting laid tonight." She grinned.

"What is it you wanna know?" He asked.

Nix sat in the chair adjacent to him, and crossed her legs. The pistol never left the man's head.

"Some time ago a raid was carried out in NCR territory. A slaver party went off with this girl."

Nix held up the photograph of Hannah.

"She's the kind of high value flesh I know men like you would salivate at." Nix spat.

"I've never seen her before."

Nix hissed as if in pain.

"Ouch Stefan, you see here I thought we were gonna be open and honest."

Nix thumbed back the hammer.

"Now I'm gonna have to hurt you." She said simply, taking aim.

"Hold up! Fuck wait!" He cried crying holding his hands up.

The pistol was suppressed, nobody in the brothel would be disturbed by wanton gunfire.

The bullet she fired severed Stefan's pinkie.

"Gah! God dammit! Ah you bitch!" He howled.

Nix was serene as she reclined.

"If you wanna keep fucking lying to me you've got nine more." She hissed.

"I'm not lying! I swear I'm not!" He cried, holding the bleeding stump.

"Where's the girl?" She sighed, irritation evident.

"I don't know where she is... but I got an idea!" He sobbed.

"Enlighten me."

"There's a crew that sounds like them, the kind of dudes that take valuable slave stock. They do requests ya know? Some guy wants an heiress all to himself and they're the ones to do it!" He explained.

"Where?" She asked.

"Legion territory! Utah! Somewhere near the border between Arizona and Utah..." He whimpered.

"See how simple and painless life is when you're honest?" She asked.

He grimaced and scowled at her, blood coated her hands.

Nix stood, dusted herself off and prayed she hadn't just sat in someone's bodily fluids.

As Nix turned to leave she heard a click.

"You fuckin' bitch you shot my finger off!"

He had brandished his revolver, Nix stared it down. He'd thumbed the hammer back and was ready to fire.

She wasn't a fast drawing desperado that Shane was, but she was by no means slow.

Her hand snapped up, and all she felt was a sting as she gripped the frame of the revolver. Her pinkie sat between the hammer and the firing pin.

"I have been very nice tonight but you are pushing your luck." She growled, twisting the gun in his hands until his grip faltered.

Once the revolver was free from his grasp, Nix hefted it.

"Nice piece." She chuckled.

The butt of the pistol connected with his left eye, and it popped like a grape.

He was a whimpering mess when he'd lost his pinkie, he was a screaming wreck now as he covered the ruined eye.

She felt like Shane would've liked that.

As Nix strode out of the brothel, she had an audience lining up the hallway. Whores of all flavors and clients of the same variety all glanced at the source of the screaming.

They didn't expect a 5'3 woman to be sauntering out with enough armament to make a Ranger squad giddy.

She smirked, she felt like a queen as she caused the eyes of some of the women to sparkle.

Maybe someday that'd be the push they needed to escape that life.

She knew all too well what it felt like to need that inspiration, especially in that line of work.

"Utah huh?" She mused.

No small walk.

Pretty Sarah gave her a brisk fist bump and a smile as Nix descended the final step to the second floor.

"You're the best doc, go get 'em."

Nix smiled over her shoulder and flashed a peace sign.

Nothing was in Utah anymore as far as she knew, the White Leg tribe had torched New Canaan. She'd heard Shane had something to do with that.

"Of course he did." She chuckled.

Nix and Shane had started their careers in freelance violence at roughly the same time. And she'd found that when it came to this neck of the woods his name had become household.

Nicole "Nix" Maxwell was another name that graced the pantheon of gunslingers, bounty hunters and mercenaries that Shane fell into.

But her fame had never been like his.

She'd had her fair share of exploits no doubt, but hers was amateur compared to his.

She'd both admired and reviled it, her bruised ego had made it so that she needed to compete with him but that inexplicable side idolized him.

There he was, the living embodiment of everything she wished she could be. That hyper-lethal status she craved like a junkie with a fix.

It was that high standard she held him to that made her so utterly disappointed in him recently.

Three years ago, Hannah would be safe and home by now.

Now? Shane had to step aside, and she had to take the reins.

Nix mused over the irony of this as she walked, she'd always wanted to beat Shane. They'd fought before, sparred occasionally.

But it turned out all along, that the best way to beat him was to wait.

She cared for him greatly, but her pride needed for her to win. She had to be on top, and now, she very much was.

As she covered the first few miles her mind deduced what she'd never thought she'd say.

Shane Walsh was not the best anymore.


End file.
